


Fair in Love and War

by Windymon



Series: The Beauty of Eversong Endures [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dealing with Sylvanas, F/F, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lor'themar has too much shit to deal with, M/M, Probably AU unless Blizzard does something crazy good, So does Anduin, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 14:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14546673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windymon/pseuds/Windymon
Summary: The last bastion of the Horde in the Eastern Kingdoms, in the wake of the events of Battle for Azeroth, Lor'themar has to quickly adapt to this new situation with the help of some newfound and unexpected allies.





	Fair in Love and War

**Author's Note:**

> So, again, this is me taking events hinted at and running with them. Going a bit further than in my previous work.

 

It was clear from the way the two women looked at each other, that there was something special between them. Lor'themar still had one good eye, so he could clearly see how Liadrin smiled as she spoke to the Draenei woman, in an excitable way that he had not seen her do in much too long.

 

Though much time had passed, marking them both with its passage and words had been exchanged between them, there was still some part of Lor'themar, deep within his breast which ached slightly at the sight. He truly wished nothing more than to see Liadrin happy, so he preserved the image in his mind, then turned away from them and instead let his gaze roam over the rest of their makeshift army.

 

It was queer to see Sin'dorei and Draenei work together to clear away the debris from the battle, seeking out the dead and healing their wounded.

 

To his right, a Draenei paladin was healing the badly cut leg of a Farstrider. Further away from them, a Sin'dorei priest was helping a Draenei warrior to the hastily erected tent where wounded were given what help they needed before they were sent on their way, to rest or back to Silvermoon if their wounds were grave enough.

 

He had not truly believed Liadrin's earlier belief that the Draenei could come here, that they would cross from this other world and assist them here. For the first time in his life, Lor'themar was glad that he had been wrong.

 

"My scouts tell me the Alliance army is still camped out on the far side of the Thalassian pass,” Halduron said as he rode up to him on a hawkstrider. "They seem to be making no effort at regrouping."

 

"Perhaps they did not expect this sort of resistance,” Lor'themar said. "Or rather, that it would come from a people familiar to them."

 

Halduron let out a bark of a laugh.

 

"I expect the Draenei of the Alliance must have been surprised to be faced with their own kin,” he said grinning, his blond hair disheveled, but his eyes still bright and alive.

 

"Keep a sharp eye on them, Halduron,” Lor'themar said, keenly aware that he probably looked rather unkempt himself. "I want to be notified of any and every movement, even if it's just an officer leaving camp to take a piss."

 

"Of course,” Halduron said and bowed as much as his mounted position allowed him to. "I have my best scouts on it."

 

Lor'themar offered his old friend a smile.

 

"I'll be returning to Silvermoon shortly, but I know I can trust you to keep things in order here in my absence,” he said and nodded towards Halduron.

 

"You owe me a drink later,” Halduron said, the same grin on his face as he took off to attend to his duties.

 

Lor'themar let out a sigh and let the events of the past few days (weeks? Surely not months.) finally catch up to him.

 

The Horde's defeat in the Arathi Highlands, the Alliance slow march from there, where it finally became abundantly clear that, yes, they did indeed have their sights set on Quel'thalas. The rest of the Horde were tied up in Kalimdor at the moment, he had been told, surely they could hold out for a bit?

 

It was during that grim war council meeting, when he'd shared their Warchief's message, that Liadrin had brought up those allies she had encountered on that other version of Outland, still called Draenor. Rommath had been more vocal about his skepticism than Lor'themar, had insisted that the newly erected Ban'dinoriel would protect the people of Silvermoon City and anyone who could flee there in time, but in the end, Lor'themar had seen enough Sin'dorei blood spilled and they had only just begun to see new growth and hope in Eversong. He would take any chance to prevent it all being trampled into dust again.

 

Now, he was glad for this gamble, for they had truly been clutching at straws when it came to defending themselves against the Alliance army.

 

He found his own hawkstrider, Thas’dorei, penned up where he had left her, now in the company of two others, injured, but still well enough, legs bandaged and enough feed left for the three of them. Lor’themar suspected this was Halduron’s work. The Farstrider mounts would always receive the same care and attention as those who rode on them.

 

Despite his weariness it was easy enough to smile as Thas’dorei began to croon and nuzzle him at his approach, standing placidly as he mounted her. She was bred from the finest stock, from what had been left after Arthas had ravaged the land. Among the first clutches hatched, in fact, and only now old enough to be ridden into the field like this.

 

With very little encouragement from him, she set off through the forest, back towards Silvermoon and home. Back in Sunfury Spire his desk was waiting for him, with its stack of documents and missives...but also the side room with the divan and a bottle of Eversong Preserve.

 

Lor'themar knew which he most looked forward to right now, the question was whether he'd be able to partake of both of them, before sleep claimed him.

 

As he entered the main chamber he found Oculeth there, tinkering with the telematic portal to Suramar as a number of student magi hovered nearby, seemingly eager to lend a hand if asked.

It spoke to his general exhaustion that he was, for a moment, surprised to see Rommath there as well, standing beside Oculeth in rapt attention. Magi had always had the advantage of fast travel, but with Oculeth as an ally, that advantage was slowly diminishing.

 

"Your magi will soon have to find new ways to make themselves useful to the general populace,” Lor'themar had jested. Rommath had scowled, but it had quickly smoothed itself back out.

 

"Ah, Lord Regent, there you are!" Oculeth said and turned away from his work to face him. "Your young friend here has been helping me make the final adjustments, soon enough Silvermoon will have a secure passage to Suramar at all times."

 

Lor'themar somehow managed to not sputter at his word choice, made even more of a challenge at the expression that passed over Rommath's face. Not even by Sin'dorei definitions were either he or Rommath ‘young’ anymore, but then, Oculeth was far older than any currently living Sin'dorei…

 

"This way it will continue to work, even if we have to utilize the Ban'dinoriel,” Rommath assured him. "It's... fascinating work."

 

The Grand Magister's face softened noticeably, a hint of a smile playing over his normally stern face. It brought to mind the morning (if one was generous, the sky had just had the faintest blush of dawn on it) Rommath had returned from Suramar City to report that the Nighthold had fallen and Elisande had been deposed. With diplomatic ties clearly in place already, Rommath excitedly told him that,

"their joining the Horde is more a matter of when than if,” and then gone on to talk about the wealth of knowledge waiting for the Magisterium in the hands of the Nightborne.

 

"I have learned more in one evening than I did in years spent in Dalaran,” he'd said, eyes glowing from something besides the lingering fel, "and I feel I have barely scratched the surface!"

 

His enthusiasm had been infectious, and though Lor'themar's lonely heart had wished for something else, he'd found enjoyment in Rommath's excitement and even given him his blessing to return to find all that he could, to bring new knowledge to their people.

 

"I will return here with more regularity than before,” Rommath had said upon his return, and something had flitted over his face, something soft and surprisingly tender. "There’s not an armed conflict to worry about in Suramar anymore and Liadrin shares the burden of diplomatic discussions with Thalyssra and the other Nightborne."

 

Lor'themar had taken what he’d been offered, grabbed for it like a man parched when offered a water skin. He'd assumed something would scoop his Grand Magister away again, the Legion had been far from defeated at that point, but luckily for Lor’themar that had never come to pass.

 

But now, emerging from another conflict on his very own doorstep, all he had the energy for was to acknowledge Rommath and Oculeth both with a stately enough nod, thanking them for their services as he then continued on his way to his office.

 

The Warchief had not been willing to offer any real aid to the Sin'dorei, but Thalyssra had sent Oculeth and a troop of arcanists to bolster Rommath's own wearied magi, as well as assist the companies of rangers most affected after the battle of the Undercity.

 

"You made us feel like Silvermoon could be a second home to us", she'd said. "Therefore, we are most eager to help you defend it."

 

In his absence, Rommath had somehow found the time to sort his backlog into tidy piles. He raised his eyebrows at the one labeled ‘burn without reading’, then moved on to those deemed more important.

 

On top of Rommath's clearly labeled ‘read now’, pile was a message from Thalyssra, expressing concern about how the battle was going. He would have to send off a messenger with the good news right away, perhaps a good test of the new portal Oculeth had been working on.

 

The second one doused the warm embers the victory had fanned into a flame inside him. A message from Sylvanas, urging him to send another force to the still active warfronts in the Barrens, as well as a troop of battle magi to Kul'tiras.

 

"There is land here useful to the Horde, and I would see that the Sin’dorei well remember their ties to the Horde and help us claim it,” she wrote, the threat sitting there between the lines, like a dagger pressed against your back.

 

It reminded him of that day, after Kael'thas had fallen and he'd been urged to join the fight against the Lich King. There had been a very sharp dagger to his back then as well, and this was no different.

He actually started when the rustle of robes announced Rommath's presence.

 

"You haven't been eating,” the archmage simply said, one hand balancing a covered tray, while the other held a glass of something. The color meant it could not be wine or ale.

 

There was worry expressed in the lines of his face as Rommath uncovered the tray and placed it next to the stack of documents, tutting at how Lor'themar had already begun to make a mess of things.

 

"You’ve not been eating much either,” Lor'themar said pointedly. "You’re not allowed to lecture me about this at least."

 

Rommath huffed, then helped himself to a roll from the tray, leaving a few more, next to a bowl of stew, which did smell wonderful.

 

"That should help you sleep,” Rommath said after swallowing the first mouthful, pointing at the glass. "But only after you respond to these."

 

He pointed at the two documents Lor'themar has been perusing, Lor’themar could not keep himself from letting out a low groan.

 

"I'll stay and make sure it gets done", Rommath said, moving a second chair next to Lor'themar's, close enough that their elbows bumped against each other.

 

It was a bit unsettling to feel Rommath's steady gaze on him as he penned the message to Thalyssra. Lor'themar was reminded of his long-ago boyhood and the long hours spent with his teacher trying to sort out his penmanship.

  
_"Flowing lines, Theron! None of those chicken scratches. I've seen humans with better writing than this!"_

_  
_ He finally pushed the parchment aside to let Rommath give it his approval before he moved onto the next.

  
And as he let his eye scan Sylvanas' missive once more his mind ground to a halt.

  
"What am I supposed to tell her, Rommath?" he asked, staring at the letter as if it had done something to personally offend him. "She sends no aid to us, yet we are still supposed to come at her beck and call?"

  
"Well, she is our glorious Warchief,” Rommath said, yet his tone of voice made one doubt the sincerity of his words. "We will have to tell her something."

  
Lor'themar took a deep breath, in an effort to clear his head, but it failed. He had seen too much, worked too hard for much too long and now his thoughts collided in his head like rocks loosened from a mudbank by a long period of heavy rains.

  
"We came to the Undercity to help her defend it,” Lor’themar said, voice heavy with memory, stirring fresh anger from the coals. "And when that... Jaina Proudmoore arrived to turn the tide on us, Sylvanas unleashed Blight on all of us, Horde and Alliance alike! She could not even bother to warn us, so we might pull our soldiers out of harm’s way! I warned her after the siege in Orgrimmar not to raise any one of our people, but--"

  
He finally let out a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose, as his temper slowly settled. When he spoke next he had difficulty getting the words out.

  
"There was a fresh young ranger with me. Halduron had vouched for him, said he was ready to prove himself in battle. He… He didn't stand a chance when the Blight hit him... I had to offer him the mercy of a true death myself."

  
It was only when he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder that he thought to look down to see that he'd been crumpling Sylvanas’ letter into near illegibility.

"I'll take care of it,” Rommath said softly, eyes warm with emotion.

  
He took the letter from his limp fingers, smoothing out the wrinkles and Lor'themar found himself staring numbly as Rommath quickly scribbled a message on a fresh piece of parchment, the sound of the quill echoing loudly in Lor’themar’s ears.

  
"I will tell her we are still rather busy tending to our wounded and counting our dead after the Alliance recent assault", Rommath said without looking up from his work. "And I will add, 'Surely the might of the Forsaken is such that it need not rely on weak allies, licking their wounds?'"

The archmage flashed him a wicked grin which made some of the weight fall off Lor’themar’s shoulders, the recent tension dissipating to allow his exhaustion to tumble back on top of him. He took a few bites of the cooling stew, as much as he could stomach anyway, then reached for the glass Rommath had brought. Some rest was probably what he needed now to clear his head.

  
He downed the glass and regretted it immediately, the brew was so bitter it set him to coughing.

  
"What was in that?" was all he managed to get out as a wave of dizziness washed over him, quickly followed by drowsiness.

  
"I had not intended for you to drink it all at once, you fool,” came Rommath's words from far away.  
Tender hands were on his shoulders, arms wrapped around him and a feeling of contentment spread through him even as the world faded and he was pulled into a dreamless sleep.

____  
  
He returned to awareness as the warmth that had been cradling him disappeared, making him feel oddly cold. Cracking his eye open revealed Rommath standing before him in his private den, his body outlined in profile in the light streaming in from the window.

  
Despite the rumpled look of his robes, there was something almost divine about him as he stood there. Lor'themar would have liked for the moment to last a bit longer, to just let himself admire the sight before him, but a voice he could not quite make out called Rommath away and out of the room.

  
By the time the he returned, looking as clean and tidy as he always does, Lor'themar had pulled himself up from the divan and was stretching in the rays of the midday sun.

  
He'd been sleeping for longer than he'd really cared for.

  
"Liadrin and Yrel are waiting to speak to you,” Rommath said, carrying a bundle of clothes in his arms. "I brought you some clean clothes instead of those… Well, I hope the stains can be washed out."

  
Lor'themar quirked an eyebrow at him, but took the offered clothes and quickly dressed, as Rommath scrutinized him as he would a fresh student showing off their spell work. His whispered reputation among the many Magisters and Magistrixes who had been taught by him was well earned. Even Lor'themar felt a bit unsettled by that gaze.

  
Finally, Rommath approached him, throwing his hands up in the air.

  
"That's all well and good, but your hair makes you look like a Rotlimb Marauder shambling across the Dead Scar,” he said, pushing Lor'themar back on the divan as he produced a comb and a brush.

  
He began to pull painfully at his topknot to undo it and running the comb through the wild tangles that had formed there. Soon enough though, his hands turned gentle, carefully teasing out the remaining knots that had formed. As Rommath's hands grazed the base of his ears while gathering up his hair anew he let out an audible sigh, leaning into the touch.

  
Rommath's breath was warm on his ear, sending tingles up his spine.

  
"We could have had time for this yesterday if you hadn't downed a potion brewed to fell a raging troll in seconds,” he said, even as he let his finger trace the outline of his ears, all the way to the tip.  
Lor'themar turned around to face him, raising a hand to cup his face.

  
"I'm sorry about that,” he said, leaning in close enough that their foreheads touched. He could feel Rommath's breath hitch and his grip on the hairbrush slacken, dropping it in his lap.

  
"Liadrin and Yrel are waiting,” Rommath murmured, but his voice quavered slightly.

  
Lor'themar saw his opening and covered his mouth with his own with a hunger he’d lost yesterday, one hand freeing Rommath's hair from its tie, letting it run through his fingers like a dark waterfall, while the other pulled him closer.

  
Rommath hand began to tug at his chest, looking to undo the work he'd done at dressing himself just now, when they finally stopped and Rommath reluctantly pulled himself away.

  
"No", he said breathlessly, almost as much to himself as to Lor'themar. "This will have to wait until a better time."

  
"I suppose I should be glad for what I got,” Lor'themar said with a wry grin, letting his finger trace Rommath's cheekbones before he got up.

  
“Now who is the tease?” Rommath said as he got up himself, smoothing out his robes before redoing his hair in one smooth movement.

  
“I learned from the best,” Lor’themar said, clasping Rommath’s hand and brushing his lips against it.

  
“As if I could get anything into that thick head of yours,” Rommath scoffed, giving him a gentle slap on his backside, as if to push him along. “Like I said, we shouldn’t keep the ladies waiting, or they might decide to barge in here to find us. They are still in their dirty armor, you know?”

 

Both women stood in rapt attention as Lor'themar entered the room, with Rommath following close behind.

 

"Good fortune, Lord Regent,” the Draenei woman said, bowing. "Or, perhaps I should say-"

 

She glanced towards Liadrin, before she spoke again, her tongue stumbling slightly over the syllables, "Sinu a'manore!"

 

Liadrin raised a hand to her face, to barely hide a smile that was breaking out.

 

"I hope I pronounced it correctly,” Yrel said, glancing first to Liadrin, then back at Lor'themar.

 

"That was perfectly adequate for someone who does not speak our tongue fluently,” Lor'themar said, returning the bow the Draenei woman had offered him previously. "Truly, I should be the one prostrating myself before you, as I am not sure how we would have fared without your aid."

 

"I vowed that I would not ignore the call for aid, when it came,” Yrel said, standing straight backed and proud, practically radiating Light in front of him. "It was both an honor and a pleasure to aid you."

 

"I suppose you will be returning from whence you came then, as soon as we can be confident the Alliance have given up,” Lor'themar said and could not help to notice the faltering of the smile on Liadrin's face. Much had happened on that other Draenor it seemed.

 

"That was actually why I wanted to speak with you,” the Draenei said. "If it pleases you, some of my people would like to stay in that place I hear you call 'Ghostlands' and help heal the corruption that lingers in the land."

 

Lor'themar felt his eyebrows go up. Draenei living in Sin'dorei lands...it seemed a queer thing, but then these were not the same Draenei as he had dealt with here on Azeroth, where there had only been tentative alliances for common obstacles. Velen...well, he was but one man, and who knew where he stood in the current conflict.

 

"You would be much welcome to do so,” Lor'themar said finally. "I am afraid we do not have much to offer you, even less so after Sylvanas pulled back her Forsaken, there might still be some undead monstrosities left lurking in places. The Farstriders have done their best, but they are spread rather thin..."

 

"Then it will be my continued honor to purge the last of them from your lands,” Yrel said with a smile, offering him a salute. "Good fortune and Light bless you, Lord Regent."

 

"Please, call me Lor'themar,” he said smiling back at her. "Everyone else in this room does."

 

"Then, good fortune to you, Lor'themar,” the Draenei offered.

 

"We will be returning then,” Liadrin said, her hand on the pommel of her sword. "I will help Yrel pick a good spot for them to settle."

 

"I think I might join you there soon enough,” Lor'themar said. "I need to relieve Halduron."

 

He could feel Rommath's eyes attempting to bore a hole through the back of his head, but he ignored it.

 

"I would be doing far more good over there than over here at the moment,” he added, turning enough that he could see the frown on Rommath's face.

 

"Shorel'aran for now then, Lor'themar,” Liadrin said with a small bow, which was echoed by the Draenei.

 

After the women had left, Lor'themar finally let out a breath he had not realized he'd been holding.

 

"You know, I might as well burn all that paperwork since you seem completely unwilling to do anything about it,” Rommath said, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

"Peace, Rommath, I will get to it, I promise", he said, allowing himself the luxury of resting his hand on Rommath's shoulder, then letting it slide down enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off the arcane tattoos. "Halduron truly is overdue for some rest, and thanks to you I have had my share of that."

 

"Alright then,” Rommath said sullenly, briefly covering Lor'themar's hand with his own.

 

"Why, there you are!" came Oculeth's chipper voice from the doorway.

 

The speed at which their hands disentangled themselves must have set some form of record.

 

The Nightborne gave them a puzzled look at first, before his normal smile was back on his face.

 

"You did ask for a more in depth discussion on how I construct my telematic beacons", Oculeth said, addressing Rommath.

 

"Right, yes,” Rommath said, slowly collecting himself. "I would be very interested in that."

 

He let his gaze linger on Lor'themar though, a hint of uncertainty in it.

 

Lor'themar quickly returned it, attempting to convey that yes, please, go have fun with portals, I'll be fine.

 

Rommath shot him a highly doubtful look back, but he still walked off with Oculeth, while Lor'themar was free to return to the stables and his hawkstrider, after collecting  and donning his cleaned armor.

Thas'dorei greeted him with a happy chirrup, nuzzling his pockets for treats. Lor'themar had to show her his empty hands and gave her an apologetic look.

  
"I'm sorry girl, there was no time for treats,” he said. "Maybe if you're lucky Halduron will have some left."

  
Perhaps the hawkstrider understood him, but she did set a brisk pace through Eversong as they headed back to their encampments in the Ghostlands.

  
One of Halduron's scouts met him just as they crossed the Elrendar.

  
"Lord Regent!" the scout saluted. "The Alliance have sent forth a representative to speak with you!"

  
"Well, this should be interesting,” Lor'themar said, cocking an eyebrow. "Lead the way then."

  
As they neared the Thalassian pass they were joined by Halduron and a troop of rangers on hawkstriders. Halduron placed his rangers and insisted on following Lor'themar the rest of the way to where a nervous looking human sat astride an equally nervous horse.

  
That the man wasn't in full plate was encouraging at least.

  
"Lord Regent Lor'themar Theron,” the man said. This up close Lor'themar could see that he was young, with barely a whisker on his cheeks, cowering inside a hood. "I bear a message from High King Anduin Wrynn."

  
"From the High King? Truly?" Lor'themar said, leaning forward in his saddle. "I did not see him on the battlefield. Are you sure it is not one of his advisers who left the message?"

  
The young man squirmed in the saddle, growing increasingly nervous.

  
"I was told to say that--"

  
"Right, right, spit it out then,” Lor'themar said, waving his hand. "I don't have all day."

  
Fidgeting ever so slightly, the young man thrust forth a rolled up missive and a cursory look did reveal the royal seal of Stormwind on it. Internally Lor'themar groaned, just what he needed, another bit of important paperwork.

  
"Thank you,” Lor'themar said and nodded at the twitchy young man, who seemed to be questioning his life's choices right now. The elite rangers keeping him in his sights might have had something to do with it.

  
The human took off so fast he was a growing cloud of dust before Lor'themar had turned Thas'dorei around.

  
"So, how was Rommath?” Halduron asked as they rode back, arching his eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" Lor'themar frowned at him. "He plagued me with paperwork and told me what I should be doing better, as usual."

  
"Alright then,” Halduron said and grinned. "I'm surprised he didn't come back with you."

  
"Oculeth had something or other he wanted to show him", Lor'themar said distractedly, keeping his eye on the path ahead, when Thas'dorei suddenly jerked to the right, towards Halduron.

  
"Your hawkstrider is trying to steal my hauberk,” Halduron said trying to keep his own mount under control.

  
"I may have said you would have treats,” Lor'themar said, glad for the change of subject.

  
"You spoil her", Halduron said, finally managing to yank himself free, but there was no animosity in his voice. Instead he shoved away Thas'dorei's head with a scratch behind her crest of feathers. Predictably, he did produce a strip of Farstrider jerky which the hawkstrider happily devoured with a pleased chirrup.

 

As they moved up the road in the direction towards Tranquillien, Halduron stopped for a beat to gesture towards the east.

 

"I hear the Draenei are interested in the area around the Sanctum of the Sun,” he said. "It might be they are intentionally avoiding the area around Windrunner spire out of respect, even though it's a more defensible position."

 

"It's also far more haunted,” Lor'themar heard himself say and he wasn't sure if he meant the actual banshees still floating around the place, or the memories of those who were no longer with them.

 

"Either way, if they really think they can make this place like it was before..." Halduron let out an uncharacteristic sigh.

 

Lor'themar echoed the sentiment, these were the forests where he had spent his youth, where he had trained and fought and almost died. What Arthas had done to them had cut him much deeper than blade that had gouged out his left eye. Still, with the Alliance camped out on their doorstep that was a more pressing matter right now than the future of the Ghostlands. He hoped the missive would shed some light on why they were still there.

 

He cracked open the seal on the letter in his hands at last and poured through the words. It was a short message, written in a tidy hand. Well, the boy king had certainly been born into privilege, if his writing was any indicator. Lor'themar was sure Anduin Wrynn had had both a quill and a sword thrust into his hand from the moment he could hold onto them.

 

"High King Anduin Llane Wrynn greets Lord Regent Lor'themar Theron and wishes to meet in a neutral location to discuss a cessation of the hostilities against the Kingdom of Quel'thalas,” he read out loud, ending it with a scoff.

 

"Well, he managed to get one thing wrong,” Lor'themar said, looking over at Halduron. "We are not a kingdom anymore, haven't been for at least ten years now."

 

By the count of elves, it was not very long, but the reminder of the passage of time since they had laid to rest the last of the Sunstriders still rested heavily on Lor'themar's shoulders. Suddenly he was standing in Sunfury Spire again, weighed down with the realization that he was now the sole leader of their people.

 

There had been many fierce glares aimed at him in that moment, but he had borne them with the same dignity as when Kael'thas had first entrusted him with the responsibility of keeping watch over the remains of their home while he was away. With time he had managed to turn most of those glares over on his side, as for the rest... Well, did they really matter now?

 

"Lor, look out!" Halduron's warning was hardly needed. He could see the swirling darkness opening up in front of him, expelling not one, but two dark skinned elves who rushed him in concert.

 

Lor'themar threw himself out of the saddle and had his sword out to meet them. These new void elves were fast, but Lor'themar was fast too. He glimpsed another portal to his right, expelling their own load of attackers, but there was Halduron and his aim had always been true.

 

The sound of metal against metal was fine music to Lor'themar's ears, causing the heat in his blood to rise. This was what he had been born to do, what his body had been made for. Any anger at this deceit fell away as he moved into the dance he had learned to perfect after all these many long years.

 

One of the attackers came at him with an almost suicidal tenacity, the void that lived inside them lapping at their skin and hair. Seeing them this up close still shocked Lor'themar, even after what Alleria had done... no, what she had almost done to the Sunwell.

 

That had not been her true intent, of that much Lor'themar was sure now, but this... There was a terrible rage and battle lust driving these elves to fight him, an echo of the song in his blood that drove him on. But for his current attacker, that rage was quenched as they found a blade driven deep into their gut. Perhaps they'd been free of those damnable whispers now.

 

The other elf fired off some dark spell at him, which he easily deflected, readying himself for the next attack. And that was when he heard the whoosh of another portal somewhere to his left, much too close and by the time he had whipped around to see there was another void elf throwing himself at him with such incredible speed that all his mind could do was to numbly note that even if he raised his arm to block it would not be fast enough. He braced himself and-

 

There was the tang of ozone and the sound of displaced air right in front of him and an enraged Rommath, literally blinking into existence wasted no time in weaving such a potent fire spell that when it went off it sent Lor'themar staggering backwards, singing what stubble had grown on his cheeks in the past week right off.

 

When the fire had died down, leaving a smell of smoke and ash in its wake, Rommath turned his head around to shoot him a sour glare.

 

"See, I knew this would happen!" he spat, before his knees suddenly buckled and he crumpled to the ground.

 

Lor'themar rushed forward to catch him and that's when he saw the hilt of the void enhanced dagger and the rapidly spreading stain turning his robes an even darker red.

 

Somehow one void elf had escaped his companions charred fate and chose this moment to make his final move. A very final mistake.

 

Time seemed to both speed up and slow down all at once and fueled by an anger he had not felt in a long while Lor'themar grabbed the hilt of his sword in one hand and sent the void elf's head flying, rolling, eventually bouncing against Halduron's boots.

 

"Ugh, that's disgusting", Halduron said, shouldering his bow. "These were brand new boots, you know."

 

Then he seemed to fully grasp what had happened and he was at Rommath's side a little after Lor'themar had scooped up the fallen mage in his arms.

 

"He's still breathing,” he said, as if Lor'themar wasn't counting every single labored breath escaping through Rommath's lips. As if he wasn't mentally keeping track of the spread of the blood stain and how long until that blood loss would be fatal.

 

As if in a daze he continued walking up the road, towards Silvermoon, holding Rommath as close to his chest as he dared.

 

"Wait, stop!" came a cry and there was Liadrin along with a group of elven magi, as well as some Draenei.

 

He somehow managed to make himself stop and listen, even though he knew every second counted. Apparently, so did Liadrin.

 

"What are you trying to do, Lor?" she said. "Walking him all the way will take too long, you oaf. Let the magi take him back and he'll stand a fighting chance."

 

At first he just stared at her, his body suddenly afraid to let Rommath go, but then he let a solid Draenei male take him in one arm, his other already radiating Light. He was quickly surrounded by a couple of magi and with a swirl of energy the portal had taken them all away.

 

"Tol'ar is one of Yrel's best priests,” Liadrin said, placing a comforting hand on Lor'themar's arm. "He'll keep Rommath alive until the healers can see to all his hurts."

 

Suddenly Lor'themar felt so weary, it was as if his long sleep last night had never happened. Something ached inside him that had no physical source.

 

When Liadrin touched his face he flinched.

 

"You're bleeding, Lor,” she said. "Reckless as usual."

 

He brushed away her gentle touch, he didn't want the Light now, did not want its soothing touch.

"I hope it leaves a scar,” he said with a low growl. "I want to remember this."

 

One of the remaining magi, a redhead accompanied by a Nightborne woman had picked up the dropped missive from the ground and was staring at it intently. He finally gave a gasp and looked up at Lor'themar.

 

"My Lord!" the mage said. "There appears to be some form of enchantment woven into the parchment... It might be how they could lock their portals onto you with such accuracy."

 

Anger flared up again inside Lor'themar, mingling with the hurt churning inside him. When another breathless scout came to see him, crying that the High King of the Alliance truly was coming towards them, Lor'themar was already halfway up on Thas'dorei, alarming the poor creature into letting out a distress call, yet she was still obedient enough that she quickly began running at his urging.

 

He heard Halduron calling after him, but he could not allow himself to listen. Lor'themar was a wounded lynx who needed to find something to vent his anger and pain at.

 

Despite his mood he still saw that the boy king came riding hard at him, not wearing the banner of the Alliance, but a white flag. It was only this, and the fact that he was being chased that made Lor'themar stay his hand and stop where the Thalassian pass let out into the Plaguelands.

 

Breathlessly High King Anduin Wrynn reined in his mount, nearly causing it to rear up in the process.

"I heard!" he gasped out, as breathless as the poor lathered horse he was mounted on. "I heard what they did!"

 

"Might that have anything to do with the fact that my Grand Magister is fighting for his life right now?" Lor'themar said, willing his voice to remain steady. He raised a hand to wipe away the trickling blood from his face, maybe he should have let someone heal the cut.

 

To his credit, the Alliance boy-king actually looked pained and that was when the realization hit him.

It had been Anduin Wrynn himself who has masqueraded as the messenger earlier. That he had been fooled almost made Lor'themar laugh. Or he would have, if the worry for Rommath wasn't eating away inside him.

 

Off to his right, he saw Halduron rein in his mount, closely followed by a band of rangers and magi.

 

“I told them to hold off until I had gotten a message to you, to see if we could talk”, the boy king said, clearly forcing himself to hold Lor’themar’s gaze. “But when I returned, Shaw had… They had gone ahead without my approval.”

 

“And you had provided them with the means to reach me all the better”, Lor’themar said, letting his anger bleed into his words. His hands tightened on the reigns, knuckles going white beneath the leather gloves.

 

“I was furious when I found out about that!” Anduin cried out. “They used me to do something so… So dishonorable! My father would never have approved of that…”

 

The boy broke off eye contact, overcome with emotion for a time. Then the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats forced him back into action. The High King’s absence had been noted and not met with approval.

 

Lor’themar’s hand was on the hilt of his sword when Anduin suddenly lunged forward, pushing a small object at him.

 

“I promise you, I’ll have our army withdraw from the Plaguelands before the end of the day!” he cried, then the boy wheeled his horse around back towards the way he had come.

 

Halduron had an arrow nocked and trained when Lor’themar raised his hand to stop him. Instead of speaking he held up the object thrust upon him by the Alliance High King. A Hearthstone.

 

“Strange,” Halduron said, looking towards the retreating boy-king. There was some commotion up ahead when his pursuers caught up to him, but they obediently followed Anduin when he continued back towards the Alliance war camp.

 

Lor’themar let out a grunt in response, eying the Hearthstone resting in the palm of his hand. He’d have a mage suss out where it led, then he could decide what to do about it. A mage…

 

“I’m heading back to Silvermoon,” he said sharply, kicking Thas’dorei back into motion. The poor thing certainly deserved something for all that he was putting her through.

 

Halduron said nothing at first as his mount fell into step next to him and for that Lor’themar was grateful, a wave of fondness for his friend overpowering all else for a moment.

 

“I feel sorry for that poor beast though,” Halduron finally said after they were well on their way. “That boy rode the poor thing into a lather and he sure didn’t let her rest before he turned her around. That creature will likely be lame by now.”

 

Lor’themar could almost, but not quite feel a smile tugging at his lips. This was the man who had once spent the night, in clothes still soaked from heavy rains, with a sick hawkstrider just to make sure it would be alright. The distraction was much welcome.

 

“I’ll take Thas’dorei when we get back”, Halduron added, glancing over at him. “I’ll take care of her personally, so you can go see to Rommath.”

 

“Thank you,” was all Lor’themar could get out before the words finally left him, lost to the flurry of his mind.

 

The stretch of road leading from the stables to the Healers seemed longer than they had ever been, his head seemingly wrapped in a fog, his mind replaying all the worst-case scenarios in his head. The worst of them was the sane, logical side that started to catalogue suitable replacements for the rank of Grand Magister. He bit his lower lip, tasting blood, clearing his mind for a moment.

 

The Draenei priest that had been sent ahead was waiting for him.

 

“There was a strange enchantment on the dagger,” he said and something deep and terrible opened up inside Lor’themar as he steeled himself for the absolutely worst possible scenario.

 

“--but now his breathing is back to normal and we think he will make a full recovery with time.”

 

Lor’themar realized he had stopped listening and was leaning heavily against the wall, when he suddenly caught the meaning of the last words out of the Draenei’s mouth.

 

“You’re saying he’s alive?” he said, staring at the Draenei as if he had suddenly sprouted a third horn in the middle of his face.

 

“Yes, that is what I am saying,” the Draenei replied with the smile of someone who is well used to this kind of situation. “I can take you to see him now, if you want, though he will be asleep still.”

 

“Yes, please,” Lor’themar said, gathering up what dignity he had left.

 

He could sense the looks of the priests hard at work as he passed through the halls, but the part of him that might have cared of how this looked had left him when the dagger had pierced Rommath’s body.

 

The Draenei quickly found him a chair and then left him by Rommath’s bedside.

 

“Thank you, Tol’ar,” Lor’themar scraped up the energy to say, as he took in Rommath’s pale skin, making his dark hair stand out even more against the white sheets. The sick robes he was wearing had left his face exposed and strangely bare.

 

“Blessings upon both of you, Lord Regent,” the Draenei said with a smile as he finally gave him some privacy.

 

___

 

Lor’themar was only dimly aware of the passage of time as he sat there, watching Rommath sleep. It occurred to him that Halduron, perhaps with help from Liadrin must be doing far more for him than just take care of his hawkstrider. He pushed away the initial feeling of shame with gratitude instead, glad that he still had such friends in his life. They would be sorely needed in the days to come.

 

The priests on duty were putting out the mage lights as morning approached when Rommath began to stir.

 

“What are you doing here?” were the first, groggy words out of his mouth.

 

“I wanted an excuse to escape my work, as usual,” Lor’themar said, trying to sound jovial. His words broke slightly at the end though. “All my usual excuses are laying in bed here, along with my taskmaster.”

 

“Of course,” Rommath muttered, gazing off towards the window, a pensive look on his face.

 

Lor’themar had laid claim to Rommath’s right hand from the moment he had sat down at his side and now he raised it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the callused palm.

 

“You’ve always been so sentimental,” Rommath said, gazing at him with eyes dark with emotion.

 

“Not all of us want to keep our emotions bottled up,”Lor’themar said, gently pushing away the stray strands of dark hair which had escaped Rommath’s hair tie from the mage’s face. He let the hand linger, to stroke the side of Rommath’s face. The mage leaned into it with a soft sigh.

 

“The students will have set something on fire by now, I’m sure,” he said after a while, with a pained look, no doubt thinking of the destruction awaiting his return.

 

“I’ll have someone make sure they haven’t,” Lor’themar said, smiling. Somehow it was painful not to smile now.

 

“I don’t have time for this,” Rommath growled, but it was weak, like a feral kitten.

 

“You do have time”, Lor’themar said, placing a gentle hand on his breast. “Don’t make me order you to stay down…”

 

“Fine,” Rommath said after a moment of silence. He felt for the hand that had left his face and captured it with his own once again.

 

“If you want something to occupy your mind with.” Lor’themar began, relishing the comforting warmth of Rommath’s hand in his, the connection it represented, “The Alliance boy-king left this with me.”

 

Awkwardly he managed to scoop out the Hearthstone from his pocket with his other hand and laid it on Rommath’s bedside table.

 

The mage’s eyes went wide and Lor’themar could already see the wheels turning.

 

“You’re wise to leave this with me,” he said, running his thumb along Lor’themar’s own.

 

“You know I was always attracted to your mind,” Lor’themar said with a grin, “but the rest of you isn’t bad either.”

 

He was afraid it would be too much, too soon, but when he pressed his lips against Rommath’s the mage responded, letting out another sigh as he pulled away.

 

“Damn those traitors,” Rommath growled, his free hand going to his midsection.

 

“You burned them to charcoal for that, so I think you had your revenge,” Lor’themar said.

 

“I would have burned them twice over if they’d harmed you,” Rommath said with a ferocity that surprised Lor’themar.

 

‘And I love you for that’, popped up in Lor’themar’s head and his mind reeled with it, but found himself unable to speak the words out loud.

 

Perhaps later.

 

“I’ll return later today,” Lor’themar promised as he rose from his chair, pressing another kiss to Rommath’s forehead.

 

“You will not,” Rommath snapped, leaning back into the pillows. “There’s no time for such foolishness.”

 

“I’ll have to make time, maybe by doing even less infernal paperwork,” Lor’themar said fondly and left, with Rommath cursing weakly after him.

 

He’d have to return, if only to ask what Rommath had found out about the Hearthstone, though he had to admit that it would be an excuse. The burden on his heart lifted, Lor’themar made his way back to his office in the Sunfury Spire, but the paperwork that awaited him there did not seem so daunting anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The first work in what I hope to be a series or at least, born from the basic idea of "what if Yrel does come over to help and it's Liadrin that asks for it", as well as, "what if the Alliance does decide to try and curbstomp Quel'thalas", then the aftermath and repercussions of this.
> 
> I made the mistake of naming Lor'themar's hawkstrider and now she is her own character, oops. She will show up in future installments, so I hope you enjoy Lor being a good hawkstrider dad.  
> You can wrestle my headcanon that Halduron loves the animals out of my cold dead hands.
> 
> Many, many thanks to the discord I frequent, especially Flyingllamas who gave me great feedback and suggestions.


End file.
